round 11 Ensign Nienne Kenoi: A Moment Described

[Sedrin Belasi]

(( Private Quarters of Nienne Kenoi; USS Garuda))

:: The color scheme for her new quarters were cream and mauve with accents in a muted green and she approved. Sort of. It was soothing enough and feminine. Alright but not quite what she wanted. No, what she wanted, really wanted, were hardware floors and floor to ceiling windows that let in lots of light and a workspace for her art. She wanted those beaches that turned this lovely shade of pink as the first tendrils of dawn worked their way up into the sky. She wanted that one turquoise wall in her bedroom that always made her mother cringe when she happened to walk in.::

:: Sort of. ::

:: She was Rodulan and Rodulans remained on the home world; in her head, were the voices of her parents and brothers and friends and all of them were saying the same thing. And it wasn't go out into space and have adventures. In her head, was the litany of things that it was proper for a good Rodulan to want.::

:: So yes, she wanted things like that turquoise wall and the sandy beach and the floor to ceiling windows, but to be entirely fair, she wanted them here. On board the Garuda and not back there. There was ... ::

:: Known. ::

:: Predictable. ::

:: Safe. ::

:: She wanted more. Always had. And she had found friends that felt the same. Those had been exciting times. Clustered around campfires on the beach, collective dreaming, far from the worried and frowning visages of parents and elder siblings. But when the time came to make the dreams they'd shared real, she had been the only one to take the step away from what was known and safe and predictable. That had been a surprise. A sadness that she held close. The end of innocence because ...::

:: People lie. ::

:: People dream out loud but often ... too often ... that dreaming is enough. ::

:: And she had believed. ::

:: There had been pre-med and then medical school on the home world. The first step away from the safety of home. Then Starfleet Academy. She had gone alone and cried that first night. Cried for the dreamers who chose to let their dreams die in the name of ... ::

:: Safety.::

::A predictable life.::

:: Now, all these years later, she could banish those voices in her head easily enough. ::

:: She was no longer the naive girl who'd snuck away to the beach. ::

:: She sat cross-legged on the floor at one end of the wide wooden coffee table that was generally used to display books and hold up food and drinks or on some occasions, even feet. She used it for her art. There were sketchbooks, drawings, graphite sticks, a small knife, and erasers scattered about. And then there was the basotile. Blues and greens and just a touch of purple. ::

:: She sat, hands on her thighs, and let her mind open, let her thoughts flow outward, to enfold its shape. Time slowed, disappeared from conscious thought, while her mind traced the graceful curves and introduced new windings. It was harmony. It was a dance. It was an expression that reflected what she was at this moment. It was ...::

:: Her. ::

:: And in its intricacies, it would never be exactly the same again as she would never be precisely the same again as she was in this moment. Her mind stroked, cajoled, encouraged, and the basotile took shape, flowed in response.::

:: She would be known as this moment would be known for any who could understand and appreciate. ::

Ensign Nienne Kenoi, M.D.
Medical Officer
USS Garuda